


Stain Removal

by Phantom_Ice



Series: Phantom's Fire and Ice [9]
Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: (It's on Phantom), Angst, Emotional Instability, Gen, Graphic description of non-self inflicted injury, Maddie and Jack are bad parents, Parental emotional neglect, Sad!Danny, Self-Hatred, So much angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Idealization, Unintentional Parental Abuse, angry!Danny, possible implied suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 02:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11682537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phantom_Ice/pseuds/Phantom_Ice
Summary: Danny is determined to get rid of every little stain, despite what anyone else has to say about it. He won't let his parents stop him, no matter how much they pretend to care. Danny Fenton is determined to be a stain well removed.





	Stain Removal

He didn't know what the hell he was doing... Okay, so that was a huge lie, he knew exactly what he was doing, what he didn't know was what he hoped to accomplish.

 _No more pain_ , a tiny voice in the back of his head whispered in answer, and that was good enough for Danny. He crept down the stairs and into the kitchen, bending down to take something from the cabinet under the sink once he got there. Placing it on the kitchen table he braced his hands against the cold metal surface and took a stuttering breath.

It was quiet, much more so than he had ever heard the Fenton household, but the fact that it was well past midnight, nearing three in the morning, could have had something to do with that. In the darkness of the kitchen, he could only just make out the large words on his cargo. There would be no question what had happened. It would be apparent to the first person who walked in. How he hoped it wasn't Jazz, she didn't deserve that.

Making his way over to the cabinet, Danny stretched up, only able to reach it by standing on his toes as if he were a damn five-year-old, and grabbed a clear glass cup. He took his time walking back to the table and once he did so sat down slowly in a seat, staring at the two items side by side, two parts of an incredibly simple equation. Yet he didn't do the math,  _not yet_ , he decided. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for, but wait he did.

There was no ghost attack, there had been no ghost attack for hours, he wondered if perhaps it was because they could feel it, what was happening, where he was. There was no sound, no plodding feet or rolling over in bed. If he listened hard enough he could just hear crickets chirping outside.

He most certainly wasn't waiting for someone to stop him, for Sam and Tucker to rush in, horror on their faces, no, that wasn't what he wanted, not at all. This was his choice, and he wanted it this way. So why, then, was he crying? Why were a steady stream of tears leaking out of his eyes and flowing down his cheeks? It was because he was in pain, in horrible crushing anguish; it was not because he was scared, not because he was terrified. At least, that's what he told himself.

It was with shaking hands that Danny reached out and took hold of his package from under the sink, and, with only a small sob, he poured the Clorox bleach into the cup, filling it just shy of the rim. Putting the cup down, he took his time screwing the blue cap back onto the bottle. Gently grasping the cup, but not lifting it from the table, Danny looked around the eerily quiet and darkened room. Was this where he wanted to die? For a moment he thought it was too open, it held too many happy memories, would be too filled with light in the morning. Perhaps the bathroom would be better... but no, he had no desire to accidentally catch a glimpse of his reflection before he died. Wasn't that the whole point of doing this, so he didn't have to live with himself anymore?

Danny knew he was a mess, dark black hair scattered around his face in an orderless disarray, eyes, not only red-rimmed but dropped and black from lack of sleep and a good punch. His body moved as if possessed by a man much older than he, shaking and wobbling, even when not doing whatever the hell it was he thought he was doing right now. The clear liquid sloshed in the cup, if he looked away from the container near the table's edge, he could so easily pretend it was water. Just water, one quick chug, and it would all be over...

Then again, it would be hard to forget, considering there was a reason he chose the bleach of all ways. There were many easier, and less painful, ways to go about doing this, that he knew. Shooting, hanging, cutting, jumping, gassing, overdosing, just to name a few, each of which had its own merits, and each of which Danny had contemplated fully. In the end, however, he just, as sick as it sounded, enjoyed the irony of doing it this way. Bleach was a cleaning agent, meant to wash away dirt and stains. In a way, that was exactly what he was doing. He was dirt, just a stain on his genius family, so what better way to get rid of that stain than a nice cup of Clorox?

A small sob slipped past Danny's lips without his permission, and he had to take many shaky breaths before he could reign his misery back down to simple tears. He moved his free hand to cradle the cup in-between both of them, his baby blue eyes studying it intently. This was what he wanted, he couldn't take everything anymore: the weight of the world, and all his numerous failures, resting plainly on his shoulders. It was so wrong that he, a fourteen-year-old child, would feel the need to do something like this, that he could feel so hopeless and beat down by the world around him. It was sad, but it was true, and, in a way, it was a relief to know that it would all be over soon.

The smallest corners of a smile edged onto Danny's face. The tears streaming down his cheeks parted with the new lines of his smile and plopped into the cup. Danny lifted it centimeters off the table and lowered his head to match.

 _I can do this_ , he told himself as he lifted the glass, ready to pour it down his throat without pause.

It was at that moment the lights flickered on. The kitchen lights.  _Oh, shit_.

His parents walk out of, where else, the lab. The lab was sound proof, how could he forget? The pair paused mid-word, smiles and laughs melting off their faces when they see their son, and then the container of bleach and cup of clear liquid sitting neatly in front of him. The math was fairly simple, and his mother solved it without issue. Danny didn't look up from the cup, but he heard the moment of weakness as the scene in front of them registered. Maddie staggered back, losing her stability for just a moment. Jack was frozen, unsure of how to proceed in this situation.

His hands tightened around the cup, and he was doing his best to hide the stiffness in his shoulders. Danny closed his eyes and resisted the urge to wipe away his tears. He knew they couldn't see his face, his back was angled towards them, but he still tried to stay as stoic as possible.

"D-Danny," a breathless whisper from his mother. "Wh-what are you–"

"Mom, Dad," he interrupted, voice emotionless, back still to them and staring intensely at the cup in his hands, "I thought you were asleep," It was almost accusatory. As if his parents had done something horribly wrong. In a way they had. After all, their son was sitting in their kitchen with a cup of poison.

"We... we were... we were caught up in an experiment, lost track of time," Maddie offered as if she felt she had to explain herself.

"Aren't you always," Danny sighed, looking away from the cup and at the expanse of empty table next to it. He didn't know where the words came from, he didn't want to hurt anyone before he went. His suicide letter was written neatly in his room, kindly glossing over all his unhappiness and simply serving as a polite way to say goodbye. Yet, here he was, ruining it with his accusations.

He heard his mother shuffle backward into the arms of his still petrified father, a muffled gasp escaping her.

"Danny, we–" she tried weakly.

"No!" He shouted, losing his cool façade. Slamming the cup down onto the table, droplets of bleach spilling out of the glass and coating the countertop, Danny stood and turned around in one fluid movement to face his parents. "Don't you dare say you don't or you're 'sorry', or you 'don't mean it', don't you dare lie to me!" his hands were fisted at his sides. He knew his parents could see the tears, dried and new, flowing down his face in torrents, but he didn't much care.

Chest heaving, Danny looked both of them squarely in the eyes. His father had his arms wrapped securely around his wife's trembling frame, but the large man hardly took heed of her. Instead, his button blue eyes were focused completely on Danny in disbelief and misunderstanding. For a second they shifted to the cup and then up to the Clorox, reading the label once, and then twice, before they landed back on Danny.

His mother was pressed back firmly against her husband, half curled inward, as if his large frame could shield her from her son's anguished anger. One hand fisted in his jumpsuit, the other lied open on his chest. Her head, however, was completely facing Danny. Her large purple eyes locked solely on his red-rimmed sky blue ones as if captured by them. Her lips were trembling with trapped sobs, and the corners of her eyes were starting to glisten with unshed tears.

"Danny..." She tried again in barely more than a whisper, but he continued on, pretending not to hear her.

"I don't believe this." His anger gave away to cruel humor. "What are the chances? This is what I've wanted for so long, for you to notice, for you to see, and you never do." He was chuckling darkly, and Maddie and Jack both winced at his accusation. "And then, the one time I don't, the one time I don't need you, I don't want you, you're suddenly here." He was laughing and crying and throwing his hands up in frustration all at the same time, turning back to the table, hands gripping the back of the chair in a white-knuckled grip. "The one time I don't want you to care, and suddenly it's almost like you do," he whispered to the floor.

"Danny! We always ca–" Maddie pushed out of her husband's arms. She tried to defend them, tried to reach out to her son. To take him back and never let go.

"I told you not to lie to me!" He shouted, throwing the chair backward with enough force to leave a sizable dent in the wall where it landed beside the two adults. He turned again to face his parents. His angry gaze meet their frightened expressions.

 _Frightened of me,_  that voice whispered to him. Suddenly, as if he had used all his strength to throw the chair, Danny was too weak to stand. He sunk to the ground, arms hugging his midsection in order to keep himself from falling to pieces, and looked down at the floor.

"Although, I don't know why you wouldn't lie to me. It's not like I deserve the truth, not like I deserve much of anything, especially not from you two,"

Seeing that he had calmed down, and, Danny assumed, not knowing how else to respond, his mother and father walked towards him cautiously, as if treading a minefield. Without looking up, he felt it as his mother's hand reached out towards his trembling kneeling figure.

"Don't," he warned, right before she brushed against his midnight hair. "Save your affection for someone who deserves it," he advised her. She hesitated, hand jerking back slightly. "Just... Both of you, just, just go. Turn around, walk upstairs, go to sleep and pretend you never saw this. I'll be gone by morning. I-I won't even do it here if you don't want. You'll never have to see the body, the letter's upstairs, you can show that to anyone who asks, I just, I just–" the sobs were too strong for him to continue, so it was fine that his father interrupted him.

"How could you say that?" The large man asked, sounding for all the world like a five-year-old on the verge of tears. Both of his parents found their way onto the floor beside him, wrapping their arms around his shoulders despite his protests of unworthiness.

"Danny, you're worth the world to your father and I, we love you, sweetie," his mother squeezed him lightly. He was too weak to push her away. That's all he ever did, be too weak and push people away.

"N-no, you don't, you both hate me, you just don't know it," he whispered back. He figured since he was already here, had already messed things up so badly (only he could bungle even his own death... twice, no less), he might as well make sure they knew how much they despised him. How little he deserved to exist. There would be less pain that way,  _though, perhaps_ , a small part of his mind whispered to him,  _perhaps they deserve the pain. What kind of parents hurt their son the way they hurt you? What kind of parents say to their children the things they've said to you? They want you gone, so why not give them their wish, and never let them know why?_

The thoughts were tempting, and that's what scared Danny the most. That he could think such hate filed thoughts, and, even worse, that they could sound so... logical.

"Honey." His mother held his face between her hands and turned him so that they were eye to eye. In the most soothing voice such a hunter could probably manage, she held him close and attempted to assure him, "I don't know how you could have gotten that idea, or what lowlife scum could have told you such a thing, but we will always love you." Thin tears were skimming down her cheeks without pause now, but somewhere in her speech Danny's own tears had run dry. The talk was just that absurd. It did nothing to comfort him. If anything, it made this easier. Suddenly he didn't feel pained or anguished, just... empty.

Maddie must have noticed his dazed and glazed over expression, because she looked even more distraught than before, if that were possible.

"Danny, do you hear me?! Daniel James Fenton, answer me!" She was in hysterics now as she shook his emotionless form. There were tears and sobs and just a huge mess. At least that's what Danny felt. All this ridiculous fuss over him, it was so stupid, even with death he was making a mess. Not many people could say that.  _I guess I'm just a special sort of screw up,_  he mused. The small smile most certainly did not placate his mother, but before she could say or do anything else, a large black clad hand was placed on her shoulder, and next thing Danny knew he was being held in the large arms of his father like a small stuffed bear.

"Danny," the large man whispered, lightly rocking back and forth. Danny continued his thousand yard stare. He just noticed how the crack on the far corner kind of looked like a noose. Funny, when he was younger he could have sworn it was the spitting image of a cowboy's lasso. "Danny," came another whisper from the man. The whispers weren't calling him, or trying to garner his attention, it was simply his name being repeated as if Jack was just stating it to the air. "Danny." The arms around him tightened just that much more. "Danny, we- we're sorry,"

Danny stiffened, he very specifically remembered saying he didn't want a stupid apology.

"Listen, I know you said you didn't want to hear it, but you need to know this. For everything and anything we've done to lead you to... to this. For whatever hurt or pain we've caused, we are sorry. Please believe that," Danny blinked in astonishment, craning his head to look up at the face of his father. Just as Danny had heard in his voice, he saw that the much larger man was crying. His face covered in tears as he held his son close to his heart.

"You... you don't mean that...?" but Danny's voice wasn't as full of conviction as it was before, and the statement came out as more of a question than anything else.

"Of course we are, sweetie, we would never hurt you on purpose." His mother leaned in and around her large husband to touch her baby's face. Danny didn't appreciate it.

Wrestling out of his father's arms he scuttled backwards across the kitchen tile before hitting a cabinet.

"Liars!" He accused, his tears coming back again full force. "'We'd never hurt you on purpose," he mocked in a poor high pitched imitation of his mother's voice, "bullshit!" He screamed, struggling off the floor without using his arms, with stayed tense around his midsection, hands in tight fists.

"Danny, it's true, we would ne–" his mother tried to convince him, while both parents stood up off the floor after him.

 _Now or never_ , Danny convinced himself as one of his hands grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted up to his chest, exposing the thin, pale, and, most importantly, scar riddled skin bellow. Raised and uneven patches of skin thrown into horrid relief by the silvery moonlight lazily filtering into the otherwise dark room.

"Then what the hell do you call this?" He screamed. Everything went quiet besides the sound of Danny's deep hyperventilating breaths, growing lower and lower as he calmed until they to were unable to be heard. Danny didn't think a room with his father in it had ever been so quiet.

Danny didn't necessarily hate all his scars. In all honesty he was indifferent towards most of them, a random ghost got a lucky shot in, so what? What's some extra pain? It's not like he hadn't heard girls fawn over much less or more.

On the other hand, there were a select handful that he couldn't even look at without tearing up pathetically, bubbling up in anger, or having something akin to a fear induced anxiety attack. These were the ones not caused by a simple ghost, not the ones that meant nothing more than he wasn't fast enough to get out of the way. Rather, these were the ones caused by people he cared about, people he trusted, people he loved. Namely, the two standing right in front of him.

There was a specific mark among this group he couldn't stand even above the rest. Starting on his side and slowly snaking its way down until it disappeared under the hem of his jeans was a thick shriveled patch of reddish skin, the remains of an awful burn that had covered his left side. It wasn't a 'cool scar' nor something that could be skimmed over in the mirror if he looked quickly enough. So much more than a pale line of raised skin. It was an unmistakable and in-ignorable embodiment of the other handful of scars he couldn't bring himself to look at. It was irrefutable proof that his parents wanted him dead.

The ectoblast that caused the original burn had been big and powerful, melting the left side of his ghost form's chest so quickly it nearly seemed like it had disintegrated, and Danny had no doubt that, had he been a normal ghost, he would have. As it was, he barley made it back to Sam's house, missing his left arm, most of his lift leg, a good chunk of the left side of his face, and much too terrified to turn human for fear of what he would see. Eventually, and sooner than he should have, he ran out of power to sustain his ghost, and reverted back to human. What he, Sam, and Tucker (who had shown up by that point) had discovered was a horrific burn starting at his ankle, working its way up to cover most of his side, engulfing his arm completely, and coming to a point right under his eye.

It was horrible and sickening and for two weeks afterwards made him throw up every time he saw it. After much make-up and more hiding, the burn did heal... except for the large scar covering the entirety of his side on the left of his abdomen.

It wasn't the type of over romanticized scar that girls fawned over on TV. It was sick, it was disgusting, it was ugly, it was horrifying... it was frightening. It was downright terrifying. His parents had almost killed him, they nearly destroyed him, and that's all he could think of whenever he saw the red, shriveled, dried up, uneven skin. He really didn't want them to kill him.

Which brought him back to why he had decided to down a cup of bleach. He wasn't lying when he said he had no idea what he hoped to accomplish. He claimed no more pain, but it very well could be that he can't take the weight of responsibility and failure resting on his shoulders. In addition, not wanting to be a stain amongst his genius family could also be the issue. Maybe it was even that last more defiant reason. He didn't want them to kill him, so he's doing it before they could- the world can't beat him down if he does it first.

Whatever the reason, Danny wanted to be dead, and here were his parents, once again, showing up in his life where he didn't need them and nowhere near where they should be.

"D-Danny..." His mother looks horrified, she's reaching out, eyes locked on the horrible burn she caused as if it were a horrible beast threatening her. As if it was terrifying and looming over whatever it is she cared for the most.

His father didn't move, didn't say anything. His eyes flowed over every scar on Danny's exposed chest, following the curvature of one where it melded into the next, but darting his eyes away quickly whenever they hit the large burn, only to come back to it moments later and dart away again in a cruel morbid cycle.

There was too much staring. Too much. Too much. Too much. Finally, finally, finally his mother finished her sentence, or, rather, her question.

"Who did this to you?" She sounded horrified.

 _But not horrified for long_ , Danny reminded himself,  _not once she finds out_. He also found himself wondering why she asked it the way she did 'who' did this to you, not 'what', but who. He wondered if maybe somewhere in her very deep subconscious she knew, or at least suspected, something. Maybe she knew and couldn't face it. Well, that was just too bad. He already screwed up his 'happy' pain-free suicide to the point of no return. Might as well take it all the way.

"Who did this?" He looked down at his body and promptly looked away, bile raising in his throat. "Who did this?!" Louder and angrier this time.

And then he wasn't Danny, he was Phantom.

The lights erupted in an angry flash around his midsection and swirled over his frame in a mini twister of justified and terrified rage, not even giving his parents enough time to look away from the brightness.

 _This is stupid, I'm an idiot, what the hell am I doing_. Danny felt the tears streaming out of his eyes gain viscosity as they turned from pure salty water to vivid green ectoplasmic droplets. Rubber, seemingly pulling itself from thin air, enveloped his bare skin, gloves forming over his hands and boots over his feet. The shirt he held up became insubstantial, slipping out of his grasp, chest now covered by a stretchy thin material. Color drained from his inky hair, leaving a blank canvass, and flowed into his eyes becoming brighter and brighter until green replaced blue.

"I'll give you three guesses," he growled through the blurry pain.

Apparently, no one was in the mood to guess. There was another moment of stillness. Nothing moved and only two things even breathed. The stillness was made all the more apparent when the moonlight was blocked out, presumably by a passing cloud, but the room was not plunged into darkness. Rather the phantom now standing braced against the counter became the new source of light. Glowing white smoke billowing around his blurred frame, shedding light on nothing but the ghost and leaving everything else in pitch darkness. A room of black with nothing but a small ghost boy all alone in it's center.

Only his eyes, acting as the beckons of a lighthouse, shed light on anything else, washing anything he looked at in eerie green. Right now the lime shadows of light danced over his parents, throwing demonic shadows across their features. For all intents and purposes, they, with their forms only barley visible in the darkness because of the green beckons, looked as much the ghosts as the child in the middle of it all.

"No." The disbelieving whisper circled the room once, and then twice, before dissipating into the darkness.

"'No' what?" Danny asked, his echoing voice much more resilient in the blackness as it bounced and twisted and turned around them all. "'No' it's not possible? 'No' you won't believe it? 'No' you can't possible be wrong? 'No' what?" He demanded to know.

"Danny..." His mother stumbled more than stepped forward, unable to be completely sure of her way in the black nothingness that was supposedly their kitchen.

He flinched backward, billowing lights curling around him as if forming a cocoon of protection. Maddie paused.

"Danny," she repeated, this time stationary from between her husband and her son. Suddenly, her eyes widened. "It was us. Oh my God, it was us," she stumbled backward and her husband rushed forward to support her falling figure. Danny could see the scene running through both their heads. 'Phantom' being hit by an ectoblast, 'Phantom' screaming and choking and spitting thick ectoplasm as half his body melted away, 'Phantom' fleeing in a panic as they smiled and laughed and celebrated, not bothering to give chase, knowing he would soon be nothing more than so much harmless ectoplasmic goop. The images flashed before all their eyes, a slide show of realization and panic.

"Never hurt me on purpose, huh?" Danny mocked, crossing his arms in front of him to serve both as an intimidation technique and a brace for his chest, aching in more ways than one.

"We-we didn't know–" Maddie tried.

"Well, you know what!? I. Don't. Care!" Danny finally, finally, finally broke, and whoever thought he would do so quietly was dead wrong. It was a glowing explosion of sound and light and color, and hate and anguish and disillusionment. "I don't care if you didn't know, and you know why?!" The glow around his clenched fists brightened to a bright green matching his raging eyes, "I don't care because you never cared to try and know!" He threw his arm out and an ectoblast in the shape of an arching blade flew just over their heads and crashed into the wall behind them, causing plaster to crumble and the room to shake. "It's not hard to figure out! Danny Fenton, Danny Phantom, ring any bells!?"

The countertops behind him and the walls to either side chilled and froze, covered in rocky sharp icicles. "I don't care because you never paid enough attention to your son to tell the difference between him and a fucking robot!" His voice came out green, swirls of glowing lime mist lightly escaping his mouth and caressing the air. Wherever they touched something, the ceiling, the lightbulbs, the table, that thing shattered and cracked. "What kind of parents can't recognize their own child under some white hair?!"

The microwave rang, the remaining lights flickered on and off again, the sink sputtered, the toaster dinged and fizzed out in a spark of electricity, the taste of static filled the air. "Even better, what kind of parents build a dangerous radioactive portal to another, presumably violent and dangerous, dimension underneath their home!?" he threw his hands out, and two more arched ectoblasts knifed through the air, passing by either side of his parents and crashing into the walls. "What kind of parents nearly kill a child, ghost or not, and then have a celebration and a good laugh!?" The green wisps spewing from his mouth continued to crack walls and floors and ceilings, and then there was a single shattering high pitched explosion.

Jack arched his back to cover his wife as minuscule shards of glass flew through the room, all ricocheting from the kitchen table. After they had settled, all heads turned to the broken cup and pool of clear liquid slowly seeping down the tables edge.  _Plop, plop, plop._

The air calmed and everything went quiet. "You are horrible, negligent, sickening parents," the ghost boy hovered just under the ceiling, his plan of exit apparent to all. "Goodbye."

Maddie buried her head in her husbands bulk and Danny looked away, preparing to melt through the ceiling.

"Wait, Danny." It was not a yell, it was not a scream, it was not a plead, so Danny looked down at the pained eyes of his father, who in turn looked up into the suffering eyes of his son. There were no more words exchanged. Jack knew anything he said, 'we're sorry', 'we didn't mean to', 'we love you', would come out hollow and bitter in the air, so he stayed quiet and projected as much as he could without saying a word. Danny's face softened and he nodded once in acknowledgement of the effort. Then he phased through the ceiling and was gone.

In the middle of a dark room, with only the dim amber light of a cracked and dying lightbulb, there was the sound of a woman sobbing over loss undefinable, leaning on her trembling husband, both surrounded by broken glass, tile, plaster, and ice.

"Danny!" A scream.

Then there was the sound of stumbling feet as stairs were descended and a head of long orange hair, melting into the weak amber glow of the room, slid into the dilapidated kitchen, taking in all the destruction and mayhem with wide aquamarine eyes. Shattered cups, crying parents, broken chairs, and an untouched container of bleach sitting neatly on the decrepit table.  _Plop, Plop, Plop,_

"Danny,"

 _Plop_.

"Please don't leave us."

**Author's Note:**

> Well, at least he (probably) didn't die at the end, right? *cricket, cricket*
> 
> Okay, okay, I'm sorry... kind of. I just saw this picture of Danny reaching for a cup in the middle ground, with a container of bleach in the foreground, and some lines about how his parents had lost their son a long time ago in the corner, and well... Here it is. I'm sorry, I can't remember what it's called or who made it, but I dedicate this piece to whoever that angst loving person is. Hope it does your original justice, even if I couldn't bring Danny to actually go through with it in the end.
> 
> Speaking of the end, I'm leaving that open to your interpretation. What do you think Danny did after he left? Did he end up committing suicide anyway? Did he somehow make up with his parents? Don't look at me, I don't know, but I would love to hear what you think he did, your reasoning behind it, and who made the picture, if any of you know, in a nice Review. Please and thank you. *salute*
> 
>  
> 
> National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> If you don't like talking on the phone, you can also chat online. Just google them. 
> 
> Some Resources if you live in Europe: http://www.iasp.info/resources/Crisis_Centres/Europe/
> 
> Some Canadian Hotlines: http://www.suicide.org/hotlines/international/canada-suicide-hotlines.html


End file.
